First
by alohamora080
Summary: Bill, Angelina, Harry, Audrey, and Ron overcome the trials and tribulations thrown in their way, during the course of having their first child.
1. Part I: Victoire Apolline Weasley

Bill knew he would never forget the day Fleur told him she was expecting their first child. He had been late home that day, held back at Gringotts because of some problems with a vault. In fact, by the time he'd finally made it into the house, a load of paperwork tucked under his arm, he had been absolutely exhausted and very much ready to collapse onto the first available surface.

So, he'd flung open the door to Shell Cottage and discarded his belongings on the counter before walking into the cozy living room. Fleur was sitting on the sofa in her bathrobe. Her long, blonde hair hung limply around her face, and her face was in her hands. With a jolt of terror, Bill realized that her shoulders were shaking.

His first thought was that somebody had died.

"Fleur, what's the matter?" Bill asked her, panicked, as he crossed the room in two long strides.

She looked up, startled. Hastily wiping the tears from her eyes, she jumped to her feet and gave him a tentative hug. "Oh—Bill, I—I 'ave sometheeng to tell you."

Bill nodded quickly, eyes wide.

Fleur's eyes filled with tears again. "Je suis enceintes."

Whilst Bill's French had certainly improved from the moment he'd met Fleur, he realized he didn't need to understand a word she was saying to realize what was happening. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a Witch's pregnant potion lying in a small vial on the coffee table. His heart leaped.

Yet, there was still one enormous problem. Fleur was crying

"Fleur…" Bill said slowly, as the realization dawned. "This—this is good news, isn't it?"

She pulled away from him, looking both fearful and incredulous.

"Bill—ze war—eet 'as just ended two years ago. Eez eet safe to breeng a child eento ze world so soon?" she demanded.

"Fleur, I was born at the height of the first war," Bill told her gently. "We'll be alright. The world is safe again."

"But—but, look at 'Arry! Look at Teddy!" Fleur insisted, and the distress in her expression was palpable.

Bill tried his hardest to console her, to assure her that nothing could possibly happen, and that their child would be perfectly safe. But, his efforts were in vain. As weeks passed, Fleur became increasingly thin, barely eating. He tried to reason with her, telling her that it wasn't good for the child. But, every time he as much as mentioned their unborn child, she would stiffen up and refuse to talk until the subject was changed.

Fleur steadfastly refused to tell both his parents and her parents that she was pregnant. Instead, Bill was forced to tell his parents in passing. His mother was especially overjoyed. It was her first grandchild, after all. But, she immediately knew something was off with Fleur. She didn't press matters, but Bill saw her lips purse up concernedly every time she saw Fleur enter a room.

Bill wrote a letter to Fleur's parents, making it as vague as he could, so as not to worry them about the state of their daughter. However, they too were ecstatic, and they promised to be in England in time for Fleur's delivery. By then, Bill was absolutely terrified.

In the end, it was Teddy who finally convinced Fleur that having a baby was not a mistake. Harry brought Teddy over one day for tea during Fleur's third month, pregnant. Bill saw Fleur's eyes fill with tears at the sight of the two orphans laughing and rambling up the pathway to their seaside cottage.

Bill immediately set to making Harry some tea, and they chatted briefly about work and the latest news. Bill's attention, however, was mainly on Fleur, who had taken Teddy into the living room. She hurriedly brushed away the tears from her eyes as she sat down—an action which Teddy didn't miss.

"Auntie Fleur, why'you cry?" Teddy asked in a calm, concerned voice. Bill was instantly reminded of Remus.

She swallowed heavily. "I'm scared, Teddy," she replied in a low whisper.

Teddy cocked his head to the side. "Why?"

"Teddy, I am going to 'ave a baby."

"Auntie, tha'ss great!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together joyously, and even Fleur couldn't help but crack a small smile at his delighted expression. He suddenly sobered up, however, as he seemed to grasp what Fleur had told him, moments earlier. "But…why'you scared?"

"I—I am scared zat something weel 'appen to my baby, Teddy," she said softly.

Teddy gazed at her, his eyes wide, and Bill wasn't sure that he had understood what Fleur had told him. He set down his tea, ready to intervene, when—

"Don' be scared," Teddy whispered. He scrambled to Fleur's side, and flung his little arms around her round belly. She blinked up at her. "I'help you, Auntie. I p'omise."

Bill gaped, his hands shaking slightly. He turned to his left, and was not surprised to find that Harry's chin was trembling slightly.

Fleur gave Teddy a tight hug. In that single instant, she seemed to have regained some of the Veela splendor she'd lost, from undergoing so much stress about her pregnancy. Bill smiled happily, filled, suddenly, with an inexplicable hope for the future.

Six exhaustingly overwhelming months later, the entire family was gathered in St. Mungo's newly constructed Maternity Ward. Apolline Delacour was stroking Fleur's hair gently. Bill leaned down and kissed his wife's worn forehead. It had been a big and somewhat bitter day for everyone, as the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Mr. Weasley?"

Bill glanced up.

"Your daughter, sir," the Healer murmured, reaching forward to gently place a little, pink bundle in Bill's trembling arms. "She's beautiful."

Bill looked into the face of his first child, his first daughter, his first little girl. A lump caught in his throat. She _was_ beautiful. He could almost feel his heart melting as she studied him intently with her large, deep, blue eyes, so like her mother's. On the top of her head, Bill could just make out a few small strands of silvery-blonde hair. Bill shook his head in bewilderment, as he walked slowly over to where Fleur was lying down, struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Bill," she croaked. "Eez—eez she 'ealthy?" And, he could sense just the tiniest bit of guilt in her voice.

"She's perfect," Bill assured her, carefully nestling their daughter between them.

"Ma bébé," Fleur whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the little one's forehead.

"She's our little victory." Bill sighed, closing his eyes "She was born on the second of May, Fleur. She's truly a little victory."

"Victoire," Fleur corrected, smiling up at him.

"Victoire," Bill repeated.


	2. Part II: Fred Lee Weasley

"Skiving Snackboxes, eh? That'll be a galleon, my friend." George grinned down at the little boy standing behind the counter, and the little boy handed over his money.

"Here—it comes with a free invisibility tote," George explained, eyes twinkling. "You don't want your mum to catch one of these in your room, do you?"

The boy laughed, shaking his head, and Angelina smiled at the sight. Sometimes, she found it marvelous how good George was with children. It made her feel rather at ease, when she thought about her own pregnancy. She swallowed, staring down at her feet. She still hadn't told George about it. She and George had been happily married for just a little less than a year, now. She truly did not want to think about how he would react if she told him that she was going to have his child, after only eleven months of marriage.

She hoped he would be happy. Well, of course he would. Angelina bit her lip.

Sighing heavily, she strolled lazily up to the counter. She was reading too much into things, as usual, Angelina decided. George looked up from his paperwork, and his face broke into a wide grin. Angelina's heart skipped a beat.

"Got anything for excessive vomiting?" she asked wearily. Morning sickness had been proving to be quite a hassle.

A tiny crease appeared between George's eyebrows. "That tummy bug's still not gone, has it?"

Angelina averted her eyes. "You could say that."

"Ange?"

Angelina's eyes latched onto her husband's.

"What's the matter?" George demanded, coming around the counter so that he stood directly in front of her, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

"I—nothing!" exclaimed Angelina in a falsely cheery voice, much too high to be convincing. "Nothing, George. I'm fine."

He raised an eyebrow.

"All right," she snapped. Then softening my voice, she continued, "George, I—I think I'm pregnant."

George froze, looking stunned. There was a moment's pause, and, then—"Oh."

Angelina gazed at him, startled. "You're not—you're not happy."

"No—no, of—of course I'm happy!" he insisted. But, Angelina detected a note of irritation in this voice that certainly hadn't been there before.

"George, I'm not stupid," Angelina declared, fighting to keep my distress from clouding my voice. "I know you're upset. Just—please tell me why—"

"I need some air," he said shortly. "Watch the store for me, will you, Angelina?" And, without a word, he left.

Angelina impatiently swiped at the few tears that were welling up in her eyes and took George's post behind the counter.

Six o'clock came and went, and George didn't make a reappearance. Angelina Flooed Molly and inquired if she'd seen him, but she shook her head, sounding quite worried. Angelina understood why. George hadn't taken off like this since—

Angelina's eyes widened as the realization trickled through her veins. Feeling almost giddy with excitement, she grabbed her cloak and closed the store, stepping out into the cool autumn air.

She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Then, she turned on the spot.

Inhaling sharply, Angelina opened her eyes. And, there he was. The red-headed man, kneeling in front of the shimmering, granite headstone:

Fred Weasley

Son, Brother, Light of Our Lives

Angelina sauntered slowly past the rows and rows of headstones, until she was standing next to George. Very gently, she placed a hand on his shoulder and knelt down beside him. George started and looked up, but Angelina squeezed his shoulder, and he relaxed against her.

Then, slowly and carefully, as she always did, Angelina leaned forward and brushed her lips to the white scars that outlined the gap where his left ear had once been. George shivered slightly.

For a moment, neither said a word. But, then—

"He'll never know," George told her, his voice heavy.

"Know what?" Angelina asked quietly, her eyes glued to the headstone. Somehow, it was hard to believe that, beneath layers of sand and soil, lay their dearest companion. Fred.

George continued, "He'll never know…what it's like to be a father. To hold a child in your arms and be able to call it yours. To—to have a part of yourself passed down to someone else—a person to whom you can teach everything you've ever learned."

"Well, as long as you don't teach our child the easiest ways to earn a detention, I'm fine," Angelina muttered, in spite of herself.

George gave a small chuckle. "Oh, you have no idea what I've got planned."

Angelina threw him an affectionate punch in the shoulder, and he laughed good-naturedly, throwing an arm around her shoulders, and pulling her up to her feet.

"Fred would be proud of you, you know," Angelina said softly, linking her fingers with her husband's.

"I know."

A few months later found the entire family gathered at the Burrow to celebrate George's birthday. George and a heavily pregnant Angelina arrived first. Harry and an equally pregnant Ginny arrived soon after, with young Teddy in tow. Then came Bill, Fleur, Victoire, and Charlie, who was holding two-month-old Dominique in his arms. Percy arrived moments later, and, last to arrive were Ron and Hermione, still basking in the happiness of their recent honeymoon.

It was a warm and fun-filled evening, punctuated with the occasional prank—it was April Fool's Day, after all—and an abundance of conversation. Ginny and Angelina lounged lazily in identical armchairs, once-in-a-while demanding something ridiculous of their flustered husbands. Victoire and Teddy kept the adults wholly entertained with their seven and five-year-old tactics, and, Molly, Audrey, and Hermione took turns cooing over baby Dominique.

A while later, Molly ushered everyone into the magically enlarged dining room for dinner.

"Ingenious cook as always," Harry remarked, helping himself to a generous serving of boiled potatoes.

Molly smiled appreciatively, patting Harry's cheek, as she swooped around the table, dishing food onto people's plates whenever they weren't looking. Angelina grinned at the sight.

Suddenly, she felt a small, but sharp pain rip through my lower abdomen. She winced slightly, something that neither Molly nor George failed to notice.

"What? What is it?" George asked sharply.

"Is it time?" Molly questioned kindly.

"Mum, I think it's time," George said in a panicked voiced.

"All right, well, let's get to St. Mungo's. Angelina, dear, let's get you up and out of here—"

"Mum, I can handle this!"

"George, I've done this six times. When I was giving birth to Ginny—"

"Mum, please, spare me the details."

A loud shriek from the other end of the table temporarily distracted them from their squabble. Angelina looked up, as well. Ginny was wearing an expression of pain and shock which mirrored mine, and was clutching her stomach fearfully. Harry's face had gone pale. And, after exchanging the most fleeting of terrified glances, Harry and George immediately set about helping Ginny and Angelina to their feet.

The pain was threatening to overwhelm her, now, and Angelina clutched George's hand very tightly, not willing to let go for dear life, as the entire Weasley-Potter Clan, Molly at the head, set off for St. Mungo's Maternity Ward.

The doors to St. Mungo's flew open and Molly rushed forward, screeching, "Everybody, out of my way! They're in labor!"

The receptionist looked up, amused, as she saw the large procession approaching the front desk.

"How may I help you?" she inquired politely.

"These two,"—she pointed and Ginny and me—"are having children. We need two wards, immediately."

"Madam, our maternity ward is under severe reconstruction. We can only have the delivery in—"

"Excuse me," Arthur Weasley said sternly, eyes flashing uncharacteristically as he stepped towards the desk. "These two women are in need of a Maternity Ward. Either you give it to us, now, or we make a scene."

"But, sir—"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Ginny screamed frustratedly. Wrenching her hand out of Harry's grip, she stalked forward, hair flashing behind her. "Listen, you lot, I am Ginny—bloody—Potter! I am Harry Potter's wife! Let me have my baby!"

The entire room went quiet. "And…you are Weasleys?" the receptionist squeaked, as though this had only just occurred to her.

"Yes," Angelina choked out, gasping for breath.

A group of healers immediately ushered the two women into a double-ward. A curtain was drawn halfway across the room, separating Ginny from Angelina.

"Good luck," Angelina managed, as the curtain began closing.

"You too," Ginny said, through gritted teeth, once again clutching Harry's hand.

George approached her tentatively. Taking a seat on Angelina's left side, he leaned down to kiss his wife's forehead. "You're doing great," he said. "Healer Phelps says it's only a matter of time, now."

"Excellent," she seethed.

Later—

"All right, come on, dear—you've got to a little push harder!" Healer Phelps urged, brows furrowing.

"I…_am_…pushing!" snarled Angelina, glowering at the blonde-haired mediwitch.

"You can do it, Ange," George assured me, squeezing my fingers. I rounded on him.

"George Weasley, this is all your fault!" Angelina growled. "I swear to Merlin that if you ever—ever try to flash your—your man-tool in front of me again, I—I will jinx it right off!"

George immediately recoiled, eyes widening in alarm, and, Molly, who had peeked in from the other side of the curtain, had to cover her mouth with her handkerchief to refrain from laughing out loud.

"All right, dear, we're almost there!" Phelps exclaimed suddenly, and, her fellow-Healers immediately set to work. "One last push, Angelina!"

She had never put so much energy into anything in her entire life.

A baby's cry pierced the air. She opened her eyes, breathing deeply. George was smiling through his tears. And, from the other side of the curtain, the wailing of a newborn baby could be heard, as well. The curtain was pulled aside, and, out of the corner of my eye, Angelina saw Ginny's head flopping down onto her pillow, clearly every bit as exhausted as she was.

"All right, you two," Healer Phelps said, reentering the expanse with a small, blue bundle tucked under her arms. "Here's your baby boy."

Hesitantly, George reached out and took the small bundle from her. Slowly, he approached Angelina, placing the warm miracle in her arms. Angelina's breath caught in her throat. His skin was tan—lighter than mine, but darker than George's, his eyes were blue, but already lined with a ring of dark brown. And, the through her fatigue, she could just make out the bright red of his hair and the small splattering of freckles upon his his small nose. He was, it seemed, a bit of everything.

"Well, what's his name?"

Angelina looked up, realizing, only then, that the entire family was in the room with her, watching them eagerly.

She glanced at George, eyes wide. But, the moment their gazes met, Angelina knew. She knew that, no matter what, her little boy would be given one name, and one name only.

"Fred."


	3. Part III: James Sirius Potter

The door to Harry's private office in the Auror's Department was thrown open, and, Ginny stepped in, hair disheveled, wearing pajamas, cheeks flushed, but, smiling brightly, nonetheless.

Harry got to his feet, surprised. "Ginny—?"

"I'm pregnant!" she squealed.

Harry's eyes widened. "Are—are you serious?" he asked her, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yes!" she cried, and she flung her hands around his neck.

Harry's mind went blank as he leaned forward and kissed his wife. Bliss—pure, unadulterated bliss—was coursing through his veins. His heart was swelling up to the most enormous size, and quite suddenly, Harry felt like the happiest man alive.

"Harry—Merlin's beard!"

Harry and Ginny broke apart. Ron was standing at the door to the office, one hand at his chest.

"Excuse me, but Harry and I are rather busy at the moment, in case you didn't notice," Ginny snapped.

"As sorry as I am to having interrupted this…er, meeting," he drawled, and Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I'm afraid Mr. Potter is wanted in Kingsley's office. Immediately."

Harry gave Ginny an apologetic look before he snatched up his cloak, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and swept out of the room. But, not before he heard Ron say, "Happy, are we?" Harry smirked.

It was as he was leaving Kingsley's office, several moments later, when the doubts began assailing his mind.

He was going to be a father.

It was as thought somebody had slapped him across the face with a frying pan.

In nine months, he was going to be responsible for a whole other human life.

Harry's stomach dropped.

He had never had a proper father finger of his own. The only thing his Uncle Vernon had ever taught him was the most effective method by which to grow a ridiculously large mustache.

Harry swung open the door to his office, and dropped into his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Maybe this whole this was a mistake—

"Harry!"

Harry looked up. Ron was standing at the entrance to his office, looking positively gleeful. "Congratulations, mate! Ginny's just told me the good news. I'm really trying to ignore the fact that you knocked up my sister, and concentrate on the fact that—blimey—you're going be a father, Harry!"

Harry smiled forcibly, as Ron came around the room to clap his friend's shoulder.

"I'm going to be Godfather Ron. This—this is the best moment of my life so far—well, except for the day I found out that I was going to be on the Chocolate Frog Cards—but, _that_—that was just too good to be true, really—" he broke off, staring out into the distance, his eyes wide and unfocused.

Harry bit his lip. "Ron, to be honest, I am scared out of my wits right now," he admitted, voice trembling slightly.

This snapped Ron out of his reverie. "Why?" he demanded skeptically.

"What if—what if I'm not a good father?" Harry whispered nervously, feeling rather like a child who was attending school for the first time.

Ron stared at him.

"What?" Harry asked, suddenly defensive.

"Harry, I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better listen up. You're Harry Potter. You've saved the entire Wizarding World on numerous occasions. If anyone's going to be a good father, it's you—"

"But, Ron, it's not the same thing—" Harry tried to interrupt.

"You taught thirty-odd kids the basics of Defense, you've always been the mediator between Hermione and me, and—wait a second—who does Teddy stay with on weekends, again?" Ron scratched his chin in mock-curiosity. He looked Harry. "Oh, wait, that's right—you!"

"But—" Harry was having trouble coming up with arguments, now, as Ron's speech scattered away the worries and replaced them with something entirely different: hope.

"And, here—look at it this way. Even if you turn out to be the worst father ever—which you won't, of course—at least you'll have loads of bedtime stories to tell the kid," Ron finished, eyes twinkling.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, Godfather Ron."

"Anytime."

The two exchanged a fleeting hug, and suddenly, Harry had never felt happier that Ron had chosen to sit in his compartment, on the Hogwarts Express that one day, so many, many years ago.

* * *

"Hey, Gin…have you seen this?" Harry called softly, his eyes glued to a picture in the old, leather-bound photo album Hagrid had gifted to him, back in his first year of Hogwarts. In it, his father was cradling him gently, rocking him back and forth, eyes brimming with tears. James's smile was tinged with sadness, as though he knew, even then, the weight of all the risks they had taken, bringing a child into the world. But, the way he held him—closely, tenderly, lovingly—showed that it didn't matter, in the least. Harry was his son. He was his father.

"What is it?" Ginny asked tiredly, reluctantly pulling herself out of the comfortable rocker Molly and Arthur had given them before making her way across the room.

Harry knew that she didn't like moving around very much at this stage of her pregnancy, but he simply couldn't help himself. He needed her to see it, understand it. At long last, she knelt down beside him, wincing as she attempted to pull herself into a tolerable position. But, all her irritation melted away the instant she caught sight of the picture.

"Oh, Harry."

* * *

It was April Fool's Day, days later, and Ginny and Harry, along with the rest of our family, had gathered in the Burrow to celebrate George's twenty-seventh birthday. They sat down at the dining table for dinner, and Harry immediately piled his plate high with several delicious-looking roast potatoes. "Ingenious cook as always," he remarked happily, more than ready to begin feasting upon the delicacies his mother-in-law had prepared for the occasion.

Mrs. Weasley patted his cheek lightly, before continuing her rounds around the table.

A sudden shriek from across the table caught his attention. Harry looked up, stunned. Angelina's water appeared to have broken. Harry had just jumped to his feet when, with a jolt of terror, he realized that Ginny's grip on his hand was unusually firm. One look at her pale face told hhim, at once, what the problem was. Harry glanced at George, petrified.

He had just a moment to spare one last, longing look at the delicious roast potatoes before he was being whisked away, and St. Mungo's Maternity Ward was looming in front of him.

Everything that followed was a blur, until Harry was able to see Ginny lying safely upon her hospital cot, teeth gritted in pain. He took a deep, reassuring breath. It was time.

Hours later, Harry was beginning to feel that defeating the darkest wizard of all time had been a cinch, compared to what he was going through at the moment. Several shocks of his messy black hair lay, forgotten, on the linoleum floor. Ginny, like himself, liked to destroy things when she was angry. Harry just wished she'd chosen something besides his hair to annihilate.

"Harry James Potter!" she snarled, so loudly that even Mrs. Weasley looked disapproving. "I swear—when this is over—"

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, pursing her lips reproachfully.

"It's all right, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said weakly.

"All right," the Healer said breathlessly, "the baby's crowning. One more push, dear!"

"Come on, Ginny," Harry urged, kneeling down to that his face was level with Ginny's. He squeezed her hand. The sound of a baby wailing was emanating from the other side of the curtain; Angelina was done. "Show the world what you can do."

In a split second, Ginny's eyes met his, and she surveyed me, eyes blazing with determination, as only hers could. The very next moment, a baby's shrill cry was piercing the air like a siren.

"You did it," Harry breathed in wonder, kissing her forehead. He would never be able to know what exactly she'd been through, but he had nothing but total and utter admiration for her strength.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter," the healer told him, placing the baby in his outstretched arms. "It's a boy."

It's a boy. It's a boy. It's a _boy_. The worlds played themselves over and over again in his mind, almost like a mantra. Realization crashed down upon him. He had a son.

Harry looked down at the baby boy, and immediately noticed that the edge of bright brown to his other wise pale eyes. Brown eyes. Ginny's eyes. Eyes which radiated warmth and kindness and love and confidence. A small shock of untidy, black hair was just visible under the knot of blue blankets, and, already, a few freckles could be spotted on his small, cherubic cheeks.

"Harry," Ginny murmured, reaching out to accept the little boy from me. "Harry—what—what's his name?"

Harry's mind whirled. Slowly, he reached and took his son's small, precious hand in his own larger one. He thought of what it'd taken to get to this moment, how he had constantly looked to his own father for inspiration, how his own birth had had such an enormous impact on James's life. And, suddenly, the preceding nine months seemed like a chapter out of his father's life. It was _his_ name which rose, immediately, to Harry's lips. "James," he whispered.


	4. Part IV: Molly Audrey Weasley

"No…no…no, no, no," Audrey muttered, taking yet another sip of the pregnancy potion. She tapped her wand to her wrist, and, the same word appeared once again, clear as day, as though taunting her: Positive. "This is not happening!"

"Audrey?" her mother's voice floated down the hallway.

She jumped violently, quickly slipping the small vial of potion into her purse before her mother caught sight of it. Audrey doubted she would have recognized it either way; her mother was a Muggle.

"Yeah, Mum?" Audrey called in a oddly strangled voice.

Her mother appeared at the door frame, beaming widely. "Audrey, you'll never believe it! Your father has _finally_ agreed to let me have some of my non-magical friends over for tea!"

Audrey smiled forcibly. Her father was a pure-blood, and for some reason her mother's Muggle had always irritated him. Sometimes, it Audrey found it hard to believe that her parents had ever fallen for each other. It wasn't possible to find a man and a woman less suited for each other.

"Audrey?"

She jerked awake. "Uh?"

"Goodness, what has gotten into you? You're spending far too much time up here these days," Audrey's mother declared, grimacing around at her daughter's cluttered bedroom.

"I'm fine." Audrey forced a smile.

Her mother gazed at her fixedly, concern evident in her expression.

"Mum, really, I'm fine." Audrey exhaled gustily, a notable edge to her voice.

"Audrey, dear, if there's something upsetting you, you know you can tell me," her mother said earnestly, reaching out to take her daughter's hand in her own.

"Mother, I swear to Merlin, it's nothing! Now, what were you saying, again?" Audrey demanded, swiftly steering the conversation back to safe ground.

"Oh, yes…"—Audrey gave a small sigh of relief—"well, your father is allowing me to have some close friends over this weekend for tea, and, I was wondering if you might want to invite that friend of yours you talk about so much. Percy, is it?"

Audrey's stomach flipped, and, suddenly, she didn't know whether it was because of what her mother had just suggested or morning sickness. She bit her lip, furiously trying to detect a way out of the situation.

"Well—Mum, he—he's really busy these days, at the Ministry," Audrey told her, swallowing heavily. "And, er—truth be told, so am I."

"Oh," her mother said quietly, and the disappointment in her voice was unmistakeable. "Well…that's okay, then." She sighed and got to her feet, strolling back towards the door.

Unable to stop herself, Audrey suddenly called out, "Mum, wait! Actually, I—I think we can make time this weekend. I'll write to him."

Her face brightened. "Audrey, that's excellent!" And, with that, she disappeared down the corridor, humming to herself.

Mentally chiding herself for what she had just done, Audrey grabbed a piece of parchment. She had begun addressing it to Percy, when, suddenly, an idea struck me. And, instead of writing "Percy Weasley" on the envelope, she wrote "Molly Weasley." Audrey would never know what it was that made her change her mind. After all, she had never met the woman before in her life. However, she found herself quickly scribbling out a letter to her, anyhow.

_Dear Mrs. Weasley,_

_I know you've never met me in your life, but just today, I found out that I am carrying your son, Percy's, child._

_Would it be okay if I came to your house tomorrow, at around three? I just want to talk to you alone. __I feel so lost and scared, and I'm afraid of telling my parents. Only Merlin knows what my father would say._

_Please help me,_

_Audrey_

She tiptoed stealthily up to the family's Owlery, and, quickly, she tied the note to an owl's ankle. Hurriedly, she ushered him out the window, watching him fly away. Audrey didn't know just how long she stood there, staring hollowly out at the afternoon sky. It could have been minutes, hours, days even. Because, the next thing Audrey knew, the owl was back, a new envelope dangling from his foot.

Her heartbeat seemed to pound through her eyes and ears, as she stumbled forward to retrieve the letter. Her hands shook so violently that, after a moment, the owl began hooting impatiently.

"Hush," Audrey warned in a whisper, casting an covert, anxious glance towards the door behind her. At long last, she managed to unfasten the letter. Ripping the envelope open, she pulled the note out, and read:

_Dearest Audrey,_

_Percy has mentioned you many times in my house. He seemed quite smitten by you._

_Although I am rather disappointed that you didn't wait until after marriage, I am being quite the hypocrite. I didn't get married myself until shortly before the birth of my first child._

_Please do come over tomorrow. I would love to meet you, and I will make sure no one is around at three o'clock. Please, __don't be scared, dear. Everything will turn out all right, I promise. It did for me._

_Your (hopefully) soon-to-be-mother-in-law,_

_Molly_

Audrey stared down at the words, chin trembling. And, suddenly, she couldn't help herself. She burst into tears, hugging the letter to her chest.

* * *

The next day, Audrey kept completely to her room, much to her own mother's dismay. At three o'clock precisely, she quickly freshened up, and, was just about to leave the house, when—

"Audrey, watch where you're going!" her mother admonished, rubbing her arm where Audrey had bumped into it.

"oh—sorry, Mum," she mumbled absently,

"And where, may I ask, do you think you're headed to?"

"I'm just going out to meet a friend. I'll be back soon, Mum, I promise."

Audrey tried walking around her, but she stepped in her way, knocking the purse right out of her daughter's hands. Audrey gasped as her vial of pregnancy potion sailed out of her purse and hit the ground, shattering and spilling all over the floor.

"Oh, goodness!" her mother cried in alarm, one hand fluttering to her mouth. "What is this?"

Audrey's heart began hammering against her chest, and she clutched at a nearby door handle to keep from falling to the floor. "It's a sleeping solution," Audrey invented wildly.

"Sleeping solution?" her mother demanded, eyebrows knitting.

"I've—er—been having some—some trouble sleeping," Audrey lied. But, she knew, the moment the words left her mouth that she had said something terribly, terribly wrong.

"Oh, Audrey!" her mother exclaimed, eyes widening in concern. "Audrey, what's the matter? Why are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Work's been keeping me up," Audrey assured her quietly, not daring to meet her mother's eyes. "You know…reports…and meetings."

Her mother simply stared at her in disbelief. "Audrey, I don't know what's wrong with you, but I want it to stop." She reached out to touch her daughter's cheek, but, Audrey jerked away, sauntering backwards into the corridor wall.

Her mother simply shook her head as she walked away. "Clean up this mess," she called feebly, over her shoulder.

Muttering furiously under her breath, Audrey siphoned off the solution from her clothing and the floor, tossing the shards of glass into the rubbish bin. And, finally, she walked out of the house and past the anti-Apparition enchantments, which still hadn't been lifted by her father, since the Second Wizarding War, which had ended quite some years ago.

Taking a deep breath, Audrey turned on the spot. Then, she opened her eyes, coming face-to-face with an unnaturally tall house that was so crooked that Audrey half-expected it to collapse at any moment. Audrey swallowed heavily, stumbling forward. And, just as she was about to knock tentatively on front door, it swung open on its own accord to reveal a plump, little lady who looked to be in her mid-fifties. She had a kind face, slightly bushy, flaming red hair, and eyes which were a bright, but soft brown. She smiled affectionately, ushering Audrey into the house.

"So, Audrey, pregnant, are we?"

"Yes," she mumbled, sinking down onto a comfortable-looking couch.

"How old are you, dear?" she asked kindly.

"Twenty-one," Audrey replied.

She sighed knowingly. "So young."

"I know," Audrey shrugged. "Our…our relationship…Percy and me…well, it wasn't very…exclusive…until recently. You see, before the war, when he left you and the rest of his family, he rented a flat from one of the buildings that my father owns. We became friends, and I—well, I think…slowly…he started to realize his mistake. He was inconsolable, you know, when he found out he'd missed his own brother's wedding."

Molly stared down at her hands. "I was so heartbroken when he left."

Audrey nodded earnestly. "I spent two whole years, begging him to understand what he'd done wrong. And, well, he did, in the end. He was so happy when we found each other after the war and—and he told me that—well, his family had forgiven him. But—I don't know—the news—it made me feel a bit resentful. I know it's selfish, but I thought that Percy would forget about me, and go back to you all. And, well, I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. Percy had been my sole confidant, all this while."

Molly smiled.

Audrey continued, "Well, anyway, once I finished Hogwarts, Percy and I actually met up, quite often, and then, very recently, he asked me out." She grinned slightly; the memory still made her feel slightly giddy. "I was so—well, shocked. I hadn't really thought that he might actually feel that way about me. Anyway, I guess we weren't as careful as I'd thought, and—" She pressed her lips together. "Well, here I am."

For a moment, nobody said a word. Then, Molly took her hand. "Audrey, you—you need to tell Percy about it. He deserves to know the truth. And then, the families—yours and his."

Audrey grimaced. "I don't mind telling your family. From what I've heard from Perce, you seem to be a very cheerful lot. But mine…I don't know, Mrs. Weasley. My father is a—a very strict man, and my mother always just gives in to whatever he wants."

"My parents were the same, Audrey, but they were understanding in the end," Molly confessed. "But, more than once during my first pregnancy, I found myself running to Arthur's mother, Cedrella, for advice. She was an inspiring woman."

"Just like you." Audrey beamed at the elder woman.

"Don't be silly," she said at once. "I'm just someone who's here for you, understand?"

Audrey nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

But, Molly seemed to sense just how touched she was, for, the next instant, Audrey was being engulfed in a warm, motherly hug, one like which she had never once experienced before.

Just then, there was a _click_, and the front door swung open. Molly jumped to her feet, pulling out her wand, until she realized that she was staring at her son.

"Percy!" Molly cried, running forward and kissing his cheek.

Audrey stood up as well, nervously twiddling her fingers. Percy looked past his mother's shoulders and saw Audrey, his eyes widening. "Audrey? What are you doing here?"

"I…I need to talk to you," she whispered, stepping forward.

Molly gave her one last, encouraging look, before turning away and hurrying up the nearby staircase.

Percy was silent for a moment. Then— "Are you breaking up with me?"

"What?" Audrey's eyes latched onto his. She wanted to laugh. "No, of course not!"

Percy looked relieved. He stepped closer, looking still-worried. "Audrey, what's the matter?"

Audrey took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Then, she took a step forward, squaring her shoulders and staring straight up at Percy. "I'm pregnant."

There were several beats of silence as Percy grappled with what he had heard. Audrey watched the various emotions flit across his eyes. Fear, excitement, disblief…they all mingled together…Audrey felt dizzy, just watching him. But, then, the next moment, she was being lifted into the air by two strong, warm arms.

"Percy!" Audrey laughed, feeling both stunned and delighted, as Percy spun her round and round. "Percy, you idiot!"

Percy's eyes shone with excitement, as he lowered Audrey back to the ground. "I can't believe this," he murmured, seizing her wrists gleefully. "We—we're going to be parents, Audrey!"

"I suppose we are," she responded, beaming at him.

In a split second, Percy was kneeling on the floor, extracting from his pocket a small, velvet box. Audrey froze, her breath catching in her throat. She blinked, unable to believe her eyes. She was dreaming, she had to be.

"Marry me, Audrey?"

Percy touched the clasp and the box snapped open. There was a sudden, dazzling flash, as a golden band, set with a very simple, yet stunning diamond came into view.

"Oh, Percy," Audrey whispered, her hands flying for her mouth. "Oh—of course I will, Percy."

* * *

She went home that evening, completely and utterly reassured by the day's events. She and Percy had had a grand time telling the rest of his family, all of whom were very, very supportive. Now, all that remained was to find away to alert her own parents of her predicament.

Audrey felt something was wrong the moment she reached the front door. An eerie silence had settled over the house, and the usual sounds of her mother bustling around the household were missing. Quickly, she threw open the door and fell upon the threshold, expecting the worst. But, all she saw were her mother and father, sitting quite peacefully in their usual armchairs by the fireplace.

"I'm home!" she hollered, making for the staircase, relieved that nothing terrible had happened.

"Audrey, come here. We want to speak to you," her father called.

She approached the sitting room cautiously, a slight frown playing at her lips. "What is it?"

"You're pregnant," her father said resolutely. It was a statement, not a question. Her father was always on the offense.

Audrey gazed at him, eyes wide. "I—how—?"

"I found _this_ on your mother's shirt," he spat, flinging at her the shirt that her mother had been wearing earlier that day, when she'd knocked the pregnancy potion all over the floor. Some of it appeared to have splattered onto her mother's clothing. "Who's the father?"

Audrey was silent.

Her father's face seemed to swell with anger. His mustache bristled and the veins in his neck bulged nauseatingly. "Audrey Vera Smith!" he bellowed, his face mere inches from her own. "Tell me who the damned father is!"

Audrey stepped back, trembling. "It's Percy."

"Percy Weasley?" Audrey saw a flicker of recognition cross her father's face. He knew Percy. The pompous, red-headed boy who had stumbled, headlong, into his building and begged for a flat. "Isn't he nearly thirty years of age?"

Audrey stared at him. "What does that mat—?" she stopped short, letting out a sharp cry of pain as something cold and hard collided with her face. Her eyes watered, muscles stinging. With shaking fingers, she reached up to brush her burning cheek, gaping at her father in shock. "Father!"

"Get out," she told her coldly, massaging his arm. "And, don't ever come back."

Audrey staggered. For a moment, she was absolutely sure she'd misheard.

"What?"

"You heard me. Out."

"You—you can't kick me out! I'm your daughter!" she pleaded, finally letting the tears stream, in earnest, down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees, looking to her mother imploringly.

She stared blankly at the wall, steadfastly refusing to meet her daughter's gaze.

"You are no daughter of mine," her father hissed.

* * *

"It's a girl," the Healer said with a smile, as Audrey slumped back against her pillows, exhausted. Percy stood beside her, clutching her hand, glasses askew and smiling widely. Gently, the Healer placed their daughter between them.

"There she is," Audrey whispered, stifling a yawn as she gazed into her daughter's wide, blue eyes. "There's my girl."

With trembling fingers, she reached out and took one of the baby's small hands in her own. Immediately, the tiny fingers found their way around Audrey's much larger ones. Audrey gazed, transfixed at the precious sight before her, a surge of emotion rushing to her head. A myriad of memories raced each other through her mind. Leaving her parents, living with Percy and his parents, getting married, rushing to the hospital to deliver her baby. Audrey blinked.

"Audrey?"

She looked up. Molly was making her way back towards the hospital cot, beaming. "How are you, dear? Percy's just told us all the news."

Audrey smiled at her.

"You did marvelously," her mother-in-law told her, sitting at the edge of the bed. "You should be so proud."

Audrey shook her head. "I couldn't have done any of this without you, Molly."

"Now, Audrey—"

But Audrey had already leaned forward, tucking her daughter into the elder woman's arms. "Molly," she said, "meet your granddaughter. Her name's Molly, too."


	5. Part V: Rose Monica Weasley

Author's Note: Here's the fifth chapter. :) I made it a little bit more light-hearted, because I didn't want to have an angsty chapter for Ronald Weasley, who is possibly the most delightful person in the Wizarding World.

Anyway, this was originally going to be the last chapter of the Fanfic, but I was looking through my reviews and 0Twisted-Symphony6 suggested I have a chapter in which Nana Molly reflects on her grandchildren, and I've decided to do it. Thank you, 0Twisted-Symphony6!

Also, thank you to all of the others who reviewed; each one _honestly_ made my day.

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Hermione is the perfect wife.

She puts up with my laziness and constant infatuation with food.

She looks past my above-the-surface immaturity and straightens me out when necessary.

And she loves me—which, in itself, is a big accomplishment, in my opinion.

But, she has this _one_ quirk which drives me absolutely insane: her obsession with gardening.

Originally, it was just a hobby, something she liked to do in her spare time. I think it was my mother's doing, actually. Mum's always had this soft spot for gardening, and, after one weekend spent helping my mother around the Burrow, Hermione suddenly had a new passion.

Whenever Harry and I went on long-term Auror missions, Hermione would stay at Potter Manor in Godric's Hollow, with Ginny.

The first time this happened, Ginny told me that Hermione had spent two days straight in the garden, picking weeds and sowing seeds. I concluded that my wife had gone completely insane.

But, Hermione's fascination with gardening did bring me one thing. My daughter, Rose.

"Ron, I went to a Healer today," Hermione informed me one night, setting a bowl of gravy in front of me at the dinner table.

My stomach dropped. "What—why?"

"No." She beamed.

I raised an eyebrow.

"I'm...pregnant."

I nearly fell out of my chair.

"You—what?" I breathed, sure that I'd misheard.

"We're going to have a baby," she declared happily.

"Brilliant!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet and catching Hermione up in a tight hug.

But, the happiness, it seemed, was short-lived.

Hermione had _terrible_ morning sickness. I spent many a morning simply kneeling by her side in the bathroom, holding the hair out of her face. But, the _most_ intimidating thing about a pregnant Hermione was not the morning sickness. It was the mood swings.

"You really need to watch it when it comes to pregnant women," Harry said knowledgeably, one afternoon, in the Aurors' Department.

"What do you mean?" I asked, biting my lip.

"Well, one moment they'll be very happy with you, and, the next, they'll be ripping your hair out," Harry explained, barely suppressing a shudder as he ran a hand cautiously through his untidy black hair.

I must have looked terrified for Harry hastened to elaborate. "Don't get me wrong, now, Ron. Having a child is fantastic, but, well...there are those moments…" he trailed off, shooting me a meaningful look.

It didn't take long for me to understand what exactly Harry meant.

One evening, during Hermione's fourth month of pregnancy, she approached me, clutching a shovel.

"Ronald, I need your help," she sighed, leaning against the shovel and slowly rubbing her only-slightly-showing stomach.

I looked up. "What is it?"

"I want a rose garden."

"A what?" I questioned blankly.

"A rose garden, Ronald!" she said impatiently. "A _rose_ garden!"

"W—why?"

"You see...when I was little, my parents built an enormous rose garden in the backyard. I used to play in it every day," she reminisced blissfully. "And, now, I want one here," she snapped, surveying him determinedly.

"Er—Hermione," I said carefully, "I—I don't think I can do that."

And, without warning, she burst into tears.

Thoroughly taken aback, I hastily backtracked, "Okay...okay, I'll do it, Hermione! Don't—don't cry—,""

And, the tears stopped, just as suddenly as they'd started. Flinging me a heart-stopping smile, Hermione leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart." I thus came to the conclusion that I had been mercilessly tricked by my pregnant wife.

I spent every single free minute of my life, after that conversation, in my backyard, digging, planting, repotting, sowing, watering, and weeding. Every once in a while, I'd drag Harry and George over to my house to help me out, whilst a pregnant Ginny and Hermione sat on a bench, giggling as they watched us slave for hours.

And, by the time I was finished planting the garden, I had memorized every single species in the book. I always felt like such a pompous, imperious idiot, whenever my mother came to visit.

"Oh, Ron, these caninae roses are gorgeous!" she'd exclaim, taking a whiff of the delicate, pink flowers.

"No, Mum, those are synstylae roses," I'd correct her, feeling my ears burn in embarrassment, as my mother raised her eyebrows and Harry and George both shook with silent laughter.

Fortunately for me, however, Hermione loved the garden. She'd sit, on the little bench I'd placed in it, for hours, simply twirling a caninae between her fingers.

One evening, we were both relaxing in the rose garden, when I saw her suddenly wince in pain and reach instinctively for her abdomen.

I sprang to my feet. "Are you all right?"

"No—it was a contraction, I'm sure it was," she said, flinching violently, again, as what I could only assume to be another contraction, hit.

"Okay...okay...okay," I murmured, trying to calm myself. "Let's go to St. Mungo's."

"No!" she shrieked suddenly, clutching my hand unexpectedly. "It's happening too fast! We won't make it in time, Ron! Do something!"

Panic and terror rose up in me, and my throat suddenly constricted. I didn't know what to do; I couldn't do this on my own.

"Ron? Ronald? Hermione? Are you both home?"

Mum.

"Mum! Mum! Hermione's giving birth!" I shouted hysterically, from the garden.

A thunder of rushed foorsteps was heard, and, a moment later, the door to the backyard was flung open by my mother. She strode forward calmly, immediately taking Hermione's other hand.

With a stern glance in my direction, she questioned, "Ready?"

I nodded.

Several excruciating hours later—Harry was right about the hair thing—, I stood in the rose garden, holding my new baby girl in my arms. Hermione lay sprawled across the grass, almost asleep, as she gestured for me to come closer. And, so, I knelt down beside my wife, gently placing my daughter in her arms. The baby girl's blue eyes—exactly like mine—met Hermione's brown ones, and Hermione smiled lovingly, running a hand tenderly over the few visible tufts of vivid red hair on the little one's head.

Mum rushed into the garden and placed a cool towel on Hermione's head. "Oh, what will you name her?" she cooed at her newest grandchild.

I glanced around the garden. Suddenly, it was clear what her name was to be, based off of so many days of hard toil, in that very yard. "Rose."


	6. Epilogue

Author's Note: This is the story finale! It features Molly Weasley I, talking about her 'larger than life' family. The credit for this idea goes to '0Twisted-Symphony6.' Thank you! And thank you to everybody who read, reviewed, favorite, and alerted this story! You are all fantastic. :)

I would like to thank Lady Elizabeth of New York, Bookwormiie, Starfire-is-not-a-wimp, 0Twisted-Symphony6, andvellapaz, vezziemax003, TheInnerMusingsOfMe, janaelovesherbology, ickleronnie, HP Forever Girl, Loserslurgy, valcal, Anonymous, Lily .Scorpius, RescueRockRose, HarryPotterNut94, L-U-N-A-654, Akela Victoire, fantabulousz, Transcending the Norm, butterflymuppet, Evangeline Dartmouth, Mary-Anne, MlleEmmaMlle, Lyra Lovegood, wisps of smoky blue cloud, ctc, TrueTor, Potterhead, Abigailxoxo, lillyshak, The Original Horcrux, oxydazzled, Imiradame, Tsuki Hikaru, Juliet'lovestory, Rodrigo DeMolay, Spiralling-Down, imira, astrochez, stephaleigh, Mignun, ode to joy, suracolanappar, SpencerReidFan89, Maison de L'amour, and skaterofthebooks for reviewing this story. I truly appreciated every single one. Each and every one of you make me a better author.

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

Sauntering down the staircase, a pile of laundry tucked under my arm, I wiped a few beads of sweat off of my forehead, as I made my way towards the little broom cupboard under the stairs.

I opened the door, only to shut it again a split-second later, a hand fluttering to my heart. Inside, eighteen-year-old Teddy and sixteen-year-old Victoire were locked in a fierce embrace, snogging as though there was no tomorrow, and, completely unaware that they'd just been interrupted.

Shaking my head, I decided that my family was simply _too_ full of surprises.

Suddenly, the front door of the Burrow snapped open, and my daughter, Ginevra, walked in with Victoire's younger sister, Dominique, in tow. Both were clutching broomsticks, and Dominique had a quaffle tucked under her arm.

"Excellent practice, Dom," Ginny said, patting Dominique on the back. "You're shaping up really well."

Dom grinned merrily at her aunt.

"Oi, Dom, over here!" a voice called, and I looked over my shoulder to see the two most troublesome boys in the family, James and Fred, beckoning their favorite cousin over, to discuss what I was _positive_ was a plan to blow up the house.

Rolling my eyes and resisting the urge to tell James and Fred off—what would be the point?—, I gently placed the load of laundry at the foot of the staircase and continued through my house.

Inside the living room, Harry and Ron were having a very heated game of chess, aided by Hugo, who seemed to have inherited his father, Ron's, knack for the game. Ron appeared to be winning, for he was smirking smugly at Harry, who was clutching at his untidy black hair and frowning deeply.

George, Angelina, Percy, and Audrey were relaxing on the sitting room sofas, laughing loudly.

"And, then," George breathed, between gasps of laughter, "'Dung just nicks the toads from the blubbering bloke, right under his _nose_, and he gets the _money_ for them—,"

His next words were drowned out by outbursts of boisterous laughter from the listening family members.

And, I had to admit that as much as I despised Mundungus Fletcher, his stories were indeed worth telling.

Turning around and carrying on through the living room, I crashed headlong into an extremely tall pile of books.

Victoire and Dominique's younger brother, Louis, looked up from Hogwarts, A History and gave me a charmingly apologetic smile. Lucy, Audrey's younger daughter, who was sitting next to him and also reading a book, mirrored his expression.

I felt my expression soften at this. Louis and Lucy were such genuine characters. And, immensely intelligent, too. There was no doubt in my mind that they would both be Ravenclaws, in three years.

Patting the two studious eight-year-olds' heads, I looked up to see Rose and her beloved cousin, Albus, running all around the room, laughing wildly as Bill and Charlie attacked them with two new water guns, which they had bought at some store in Muggle London.

My lips pursed up disapprovingly at the sight of my eldest sons acting so utterly immature.

But, my annoyed expression melted into a warm smile when Rose gave her Uncle Charlie a distracting embrace, giving Albus just enough time to snatch the water gun right out of an unsuspecting Charlie's arms.

Smack dab in the middle of the living room, Fleur and Hermione were sipping from tall goblets of cold coffee, clearly talking about Hermione's job in the Law Enforcement, for both had slightly raised voices, and were using their hands animatedly.

It was no secret that law debates were Fleur and Hermione's specialties, and even less of a secret that both often had very different views on the topic. More than once had I walked into Fleur and Hermione having an extremely intense argument about whatever issue Hermione was dealing with at the time.

"So, what did you say?" Lily's voice inquired excitedly from behind me, as she, Molly, and Roxanne climbed onto the three new bar chairs Arthur had bought for the Burrow's long kitchen counter.

"I told the tosser to sod off, of _course_," Roxanne explained slyly. "I'm only eight years old, Lily. Well, all I can say is that it's a good thing Dad didn't catch the bloke—the poor guy would've been hexed into the next century."

Molly, Lily, and Roxanne giggled. It amazed me how they gossiped just like their respective mothers, Audrey, Ginny, and Angelina.

Turning around and chuckling under my breath, I entered my final destination—the kitchen—at last.

And, there, he was. Arthur. Leaning against the kitchen counter, the _Daily Prophet_ in one hand, and a glass of lemonade in the other.

He looked up as I came in, offering me a sip from his glass. He grinned cheekily, waggling his eyebrows.

"Thank you, sweetheart." I smirked, returning the mischievous grin. I grabbed the glass from him and downed it in three enormous gulps.

As I was giggling at the stunned expression on my husband's face, we turned around together, facing the living room, where our entire family had gathered for our annual summer get-together.

"We've done well, haven't we?" Arthur murmured, slipping an arm affectionately around my waist.

"Yes, we have," I said, leaning closer as, together, we watched our big, happy family.


End file.
